Guardian Whatever
by Lucillia
Summary: After The Apocalypse That Wasn't Mark I, a chance meeting at a diner nets the Winchester boys a guardian of roughly angelic stock.
1. A Close Save

Crowley never really liked bothering with America. To him, tempting people there was too much like like shooting fish in a barrel. Actually, tempting humans as a whole was like shooting fish in a barrel. In the States however, it was like dynamite fishing in said barrel. After the Apocalypse that wasn't however, he had been in the mood for a little piscine slaughter in order to center himself and get back on track. Like all good plans, that one didn't survive contact with the enemy. The enemy in this case being Apocalypse Plan B, which was to actually go through the entire process of actually breaking sixty-six seals that were dependent on certain sets of exceedingly unlikely circumstances rather than just using the Antichrist to bust Lucifer out of the Pit.

He'd stopped in the small town diner in the middle of Buttfuck, Nowhere because that was what you did on road trips in America. That, and see Alamo and the world's largest ball of twine. He'd been led to a booth by a rather tired looking middle aged waitress, and promptly ordered a rather execrable cup of coffee the instant he was seated, because when you went to an American diner in the middle of nowhere, no matter what time of day it was, the first thing you ordered was coffee.

He'd smelled the kid before he saw him, and his first thought had been that Azazel had done some screwing around and forgot to use birth control. That was rarely a problem for demons of the Fallen Angel variety, as they had a rather nasty tendency to kill their partners after. He himself, when he bothered to engage in such activity - which was far less often than one would think considering the reputation he'd carefully cultivated - usually used methods that were far kinder and more merciful, and generally involved tea made from a type of plant believed to have long been extinct. He preferred to have his bed partners leave his home both alive and satisfied. It was impossible to tempt them into sinning further and damning themselves to Hell if they were dead, and he didn't like blood on his sheets. The smell was impossible to get out even after he made said blood vanish for some strange reason.

When he turned around to see what the spawn of Azazel and a human woman would actually look like, it was to see the Winchester boys who would be at the center of the Apocalypse Take Two in about twenty years' time sitting two booths back. The eldest, who was destined to become Michael's vessel, was carefully counting a pile of money that mainly consisted of pocket change. Based on the grim look on the child's face that was somehow reminiscent of Michael despite the fact that Dean Winchester was human and Michael was a wavelength of celestial intent, things weren't looking too good.

A couple tables away, a Lesser Demon was watching the scene with a predatory gleam in his eye. While most of the "Noble Demons" who had numbered amongst the Fallen viewed the Lesser Demons with disdain, he found he got along with them better than he did his own brethren. Probably because he spent more time interacting with them, and they couldn't order him around like the True Demons he usually interacted with. It had been more out of pity for the demon who would learn what happened to those who screwed with Heaven and Hell's plans and didn't have powerful friends to cover for them the hard way if it did what he thought the poor sod was going to do that he went to the other table and sat down.

"Hail Satan, Star of the Morning, Our Light in the Darkness." Crowley said in a quiet greeting as soon as he was seated across from the demon, simultaneously putting up a barrier that would stop anyone other than say, Go...Father for instance, from listening in on them.

Startled, the Lesser demon jumped in his seat, and whirled to face him.

"Um..." The surprised demon who had probably never expected to encounter a Noble or True demon in his entire existence said.

"Since we're here together and all, we should recount the Deeds of the Day." Crowley said, going through the ritual with the air of one who hasn't gone to church in a damned long time, but was expected to preside over the Sunday service. It was the quickest way to impress upon the Lesser Demon exactly what he was seated across from, and that if he tried anything, he'd be receiving an Infernal smack-down for his troubles.

The expression on the Lesser demon's face was reminiscent of that of someone who'd never been to church in their entire life, right up until the point that someone had ambushed them, stuffed them in a sack, and dragged them there. Crowley understood. The recounting of the Deeds of the Day was one of those things that True Demons did which the Lesser demons hadn't really picked up on. Most likely because it was completely unnecessary, and humans, when you got down to it, were lazy little bastards. Demanding a recounting of the Deeds of the Day had become a method of establishing one's bona fides and asserting one's dominance over the centuries.

"Deeds of the Day?" the Lesser demon asked, sounding almost as pole-axed as he looked.

"You know, what you did in order to bring more new souls to Hell." Crowley said.

"I killed twenty-seven people, and maimed a dozen more." the Lesser demon said proudly.

"And, how do you know that all twenty-seven of those people you killed have gone to Hell, or that the twelve that you've maimed won't turn to Go- Fa- Him in their suffering?" Crowley asked sternly, in the tone of a priest who had just caught an altar boy trying to filch the Communion wine, barely suppressing a wicked smile at the idiocy of the demon in front of him whom he was putting on a bit of a show for, as was expected of one of the Fallen.

Hey, he'd take his little ego strokings where he could get them.

"Um,...I,...um,...don't?" the Lesser demon said weakly.

"You'll get the hang of it eventually." Crowley said in a patronizing tone. "I know what it's like for your kind, showing up back on Earth for the first time in centuries only to discover that only a few years have passed, and deciding to go on a bit of liberty before buckling down for what you see as serious work."

"So, what did you do?" the Lesser demon asked, rather bravely in his opinion.

"Oh, the usual." he said with a wicked smile. "Encouraged everyone I encountered to indulge in the deadly sins, sabotaged a cell tower or two, caused a blackout in the next county over, and shoplifted a candy bar."

"What's with the cell towers, the blackout, and the candy bar?" the demon asked, actually sounding curious rather than disdainful.

"It's a domino effect thing." Crowley replied eagerly, happy to have an audience who might actually appreciate his work. "You piss off one person or group of people who takes it out on a larger group of people who takes it out on even more people, and so forth. By the end of the day, thousands or even millions of souls get a bit of tarnish."

"Wow." the Lesser demon replied, looking somewhat awed after considering the idea for a moment.

That was one thing he'd liked about the Lesser demons, they were actually able to appreciate his work. Rather than looking at him with amused bemusement and commenting on how he'd apparently gone native, they looked at him with stars in their eyes as they sought to emulate him to a degree. There was even a Crossroads demon who generally hung around these parts who had actually named himself after him.

"So, what are you doing here?" the Lesser demon asked.

"I'm on a road trip, and was just passing through." Crowley replied. "I noticed your interest in the brats, and decided to give you a bit of a head's up. Azazel's got plans for the smaller of the little munchkins, and won't take too kindly to you interfering with the brat or his brother."

"Azazel Azazel? As in used to have wings and a halo Azazel?" the Lesser demon asked, looking stunned and slightly star-struck. Azazel had quite the reputation down-below, especially amongst the Lesser Demons whom he ruled with an iron fist, with the exception of a few favorites that he'd adopted as his "children".

"Yep, that's the one." Crowley replied.

"I...I think I'll just be going then." the demon said weakly as he moved to get up.

"Hail Satan." Crowley said as the Lesser demon walked away.

"Uh, yeah, um, that." the Lesser demon who looked rather distracted said as he made haste to depart from the diner.

Crowley sighed as he dropped the barrier. If Hastur could see him now...Him giving proper greetings, and actually recounting the Deeds of the Day. What was the world coming to?

The waitress looked surprised to find him sitting over at a different table.

"Are you ready to order dear?" the slightly confused waitress asked.

"I'll have whatever you'd recommend." he said with a slightly wicked smile. "And, give the kids over there anything they want, it's on me."

Dean, who was sitting morosely behind his meager pile of change, having come to the realization that there was only enough money to feed Sam tuned to look at Crowley with suspicion. That suspicion didn't stop the kid from ordering what looked like half the menu for himself and his little brother though. As Sam and Dean wolfed down their only meal of the day, Crowley went over to the payphone and made a collect call.

"Angel," he said when a certain bookseller picked up. "You are not going to believe what I just ran into."


	2. Aziraphale

Crowley scowled as he looked at the drab yellowing walls of the room he'd checked himself into. A room which reeked of stale cigarette smoke amongst other things. He'd stayed in worse before, but at the moment, he couldn't remember when. With a snap of his fingers, the room was more suitable for his tastes, but he still remembered where he was and what had been there before, which somewhat ruined the effect. Sighing, he flopped down on the bed which was a near exact replica of the one he had back in his flat in London.

The reason that Crowley was staying in this fleabag motel rather than somewhere that was of better class and more suited to his tastes was in the room next door. As he thought of what was in the room next door, he was overcome with the feeling that he should get the hell out of here and leave things alone. He was a prime suspect in the failure of the last Apocalypse which fortunately nobody seemed to remember aside from the fact that there was supposed to have been one around now, and if something went wrong with this one while he was hanging around, they would carry out the threat to have a new level made and reserved just for him in Hell. If there was anything left of him after Heaven got finished with him that was.

This meant that nothing could go obviously wrong while he was hanging around, such as harm befalling the Winchester brats for example.

As for why he was hanging around despite his better instincts, Winchester - the father - had gone off somewhere and left his brats to their own devices. The protections he had left his children with were somewhat paltry, and when there was one Lesser Demon hanging about, there were usually more nearby. To the Lesser Demons who knew little to nothing of the parts of the Ineffible plan which had been revealed to those of angelic stock at the Beginning, the Winchester boys looked like easy pickings. The fact that their father was a hunter also made them look like a more attractive target than say any other pair of brothers one might randomly come across in the area.

Like he said before, if something went obviously wrong while he was in the area...

He didn't particularly want the Apocalypse, any Apocalypse to go right. He was still rather fond of the world, and if he could figure out how to make the Apocalypse go south again in several less obvious ways that couldn't be traced back to him, he'd do it in a heartbeat. He didn't know how to go about doing so now though, since things were different this time around. Sam wasn't the Antichrist, and wasn't an antichrist, which meant that the raising Sam so he was neither too good or too evil route would be ineffective. Thanks to a change in rules that had been made a while back, even Lucifer needed a human vessel to ride around in while on Earth. Sam Winchester was going to be that vessel in about twenty years or so.

Perhaps the angel could help him figure something out. He was due to arrive in...

Fwoosh.

Now.

"Hello dear." Aziraphale said as he automatically pulled a comb out of his pocket in order to get his hair back in order. Flying, especially at the speeds at which angels and others of angelic stock traveled, had a tendency to muss it horribly. One of the problems with having curls was that if you weren't fastidious when it came to combing, your hair tended to appear rather messy. Since he refused to use either gel or hairspray because he didn't like the way his hair felt when he did, he was forced to comb his hair several times a day.

"Hi." Crowley said before shaking his head at the angel's antics. He'd never bothered with that whole combing thing the angel was obsessed with. When he wanted to be neat, he was neat.

As soon as the angel was done with his hair, he very carefully examined his neatly manicured nails. A moment later, he reached into the pocket in which he kept his comb and pulled out a bottle of clear nail polish. He then quickly swiped a layer of it across the nail on his left pinkie before carefully closing the bottle and blowing the polish dry.

And the angel wondered why people thought he was gay...

"Well, where are they?" the angel said, getting right to the point as soon as he was finished with his grooming which fortunately hadn't included preening his wings which were invisible to human sight, and already tucked away.

"In the next room over." Crowley said, hoping that the angel would have the answer or even just an answer to his dilemma.

When they left the room, the angel's nose wrinkled in disgust when he realized exactly where they were, which was what many Americans called a no-tell motel, and what the local cops probably called Hooker Central.

"They can't possibly be..." the angel started.

"It's not like Winchester has any money." Crowley said, cutting him off before he could get into a proper rant on how children should be raised. "By the way, the kids are out of food, and cash."

The look of righteous fury that crossed the angel's face at his last statement was absolutely priceless. An instant later, the angel stormed over to the Winchesters' door and started pounding on it. It was answered by the older of the two boys.

"Is you father in?" the angel asked a rather suspicious looking Dean.

"Yes." Dean said, obviously lying as he reached for the shotgun that was by the door.

"Can you get him?" the angel asked, either too furious to recognize the lie, or trying to call the boy's bluff.

"He's sleeping." Dean promptly replied.

The angel pushed past the boy and into the room which was completely devoid of John Winchester, and devoid of Sam Winchester who was undoubtedly hiding in the bathroom based on the faint rustling noise the shower curtain was making.

"I see." the angel said with narrowed eyes. "I'll just be staying here until your father returns then."

"No you won't!" Crowley yelled, as Dean pointed the shotgun at the angel who had sat down on the bed nearest the door, prepared to wait all year for Winchester to return if he had to.

"Why not?" Aziraphale asked, either not noticing, or very pointedly choosing to ignore Dean's shotgun.

"It's sort of related to the reason why you aren't allowed to join in with the children playing in the park." Crowley said, somewhat embarrassed that the angel still didn't get it.

He remembered the day Aziraphale should have learned why grown men or beings that were shaped like adult human males, especially ones that people seemed to think were gay, whether or not they actually were, shouldn't hang around small children that aren't theirs clearly. How could he not? It had only been a few years ago. He'd been trying to get the angel who'd always liked the sound of happy laughing children and often did his best to encourage it to get off the monkey bars when a suspicious parent had walked up and very pointedly asked "Which one is yours?". The police somehow got involved when the angel had mentioned that none of the brats that were hanging about the monkey bars with him were his, and the angel had been sent off with a rather stern warning. Since then, he and the angel had just stuck to St. James park, and feeding the ducks in order to avoid a similar scene.

The angel gave him that blank look that at times he could almost swear was deliberate.

"I have no such intentions towards either of these children, or any other child for that matter." Aziraphale said.

"You know that, I know that, the police who'll undoubtedly come running when Dean Winchester shoots you don't however." Crowley said with a sigh from where he was standing in the doorway because that little incident which had happened when he'd hung out with the wrong crowd had made stepping over little things like salt lines somewhat painful.

The angel turned, and apparently noticed the shotgun that was practically in his face for the first time.

"Do put that down dear, it's not safe." the angel said to the pre-teen who was holding the gun.

There was a click as the shotgun misfired (1). The Winchester boy who had maintained the shotgun perfectly looked down at it in surprise.

"Well, now that that's been resolved, would you be a dear and get the boys some food?" the angel asked as he opened his wallet and pulled out about a hundred pounds, before settling back and making it clear to both Crowley and Dean that he didn't have any intentions of going anywhere until John Winchester arrived.

Crowley took the notes with a wicked smile. His trip to the grocery store was going to be fun as well as productive in more ways than one. There was alot he could do with these, especially if he played the Ignorant Tourist card. He'd have to play it nearly to the point of Severely Retarded Tourist to get the effect he wanted though.

"Do get your brother dear." the angel said to Dean who was carefully examining the shotgun, trying to figure out what went wrong with it, as he departed. "Hiding in a bathroom, especially in a place like this, can't be very healthy."

_(1) Technically, it hadn't been a misfire, it had been more of an angel deciding that it would be safer for everybody if the shotgun's ammunition was in his pocket with his comb and nail polish._


	3. John Approches

John Winchester winced as he felt a stab of pain from his cracked ribs. He'd gone to a doctor who had taped up his ribs and ordered him to lay down for a few days, but he couldn't afford to do so. He had to get back to the room where he'd left his sons and fast. Dean had indicated that there was big trouble when he'd called the motel the boys were staying in from the hospital. To keep himself clear-headed enough to drive, he had held off on taking the pain medication that the doctor had prescribed.

This hunt had gone to hell from day one. Tracking down the creature he'd been after had taken longer than he'd expected, and his prey had been stronger than expected. Much stronger. He counted himself lucky to have escaped with his life. The cracked ribs were a testament to the fact that things could have gone a great deal worse than they had. He had been in a great deal of pain after he'd cracked his ribs, and almost hadn't made it to the car, but a dark haired man in a dark suit and sunglasses had spotted him when he'd stopped to take pictures of the run-down cabin just off the highway that the monster had holed up in, and helped him out. There had been a bit of a scare when he'd thought that one of his ribs had actually broken and punctured something, but fortunately, that had turned out not to be the case.

Every day he was on this nightmare hunt, he had worried about his boys, especially around the time they would have run out of food and money, which was about the day before yesterday by his estimate. When he had called Dean from the hospital, the boy was very tense, and he could hear a stranger speaking with Sam in the background, which worried him even more. Using the code he'd set up with his boys, he knew that whoever it was, it wasn't the police or Children's Services, which was bad. He just prayed that his boys would be alright by the time he got there.

&!&!&!&!&

Sam scowled down at the oatmeal that the stranger had handed him for breakfast. The dark haired man had bought Lucky Charms when he'd been sent out for groceries, but the blond one said that it wasn't healthy for growing boys and got rid of the cereal and made this stuff instead. He was certain that the blond one was evil. He had to be to try and make him eat this.

The blond one had turned up with his dark haired friend who had bought him and Dean lunch at the diner the day before yesterday when they'd run out of money. Dean had been trying and failing to get rid of the strange man since then. The shotgun hadn't worked no matter how many times Dean cleaned it and re-loaded it, neither had the handgun dad had left behind, and the man had taken the knife Dean had kept under his pillow away too. They couldn't sneak out while the man was asleep, because the man didn't sleep, and he wouldn't let them leave the room for anything, since they had a bathroom and food, and didn't really need anything from outside. About the only thing his brother hadn't done to get them away from the man was call the cops, because then there would be a bunch of awkward questions about where their father was in all this.

Dean had said that dad was out hunting, but he wouldn't say what he was hunting or why he had to be away for so long, especially with the stranger here holding him hostage. It had always been like that, dad would vanish for days on end while Dean watched him, and would come back one day without warning, often looking like he'd been beat up. Sometimes, dad would hire a babysitter to look after them, or take them to Bobby's or Pastor Jim's if they were close by, but more often than not, he and Dean would be left alone together with some food, and money, and instructions, and a couple of threats of what dad'd do to them if they skipped school at whatever school they were enrolled in this time.

This was the first time anyone had barged into their room and said they were watching them until dad got back though, and if Dean didn't trust the man, he wouldn't either. He couldn't wait for dad to get back and get rid of him. Then he wouldn't have to eat this yucky oatmeal that the blond man who looked stupid in that suit of his had ordered him to eat, not letting him leave the table until he did so.

So far, it had been an hour, and neither of them had given in.

&!&!&!&!&

Crowley sighed as he watched Aziraphale try to make Lucifer's future vessel eat his porridge from the doorway. Whatever Winchester was using to line the windows and doors, it wasn't ordinary salt, it was _blessed_. As a result, he couldn't cross the threshold into the room, since Aziraphale hadn't been kind enough to break the line for him and let him in, since he knew that he'd just drag him out of the room and off to somewhere where the angel was less likely to cause any more trouble for the both of them. He was surprised that the angel wasn't pining for his book store at the moment, considering the fact that he'd been away from it for nearly two whole days, and anything could've happened to it in that amount of time, which was something that he hadn't failed to point out every time he stopped by to visit and see how things were going.

Considering the fact that the hunt the boys' father had been on was over, John Winchester was due back any time now, and he didn't want to be hanging around when the man returned. Winchester was a Hunter, and Hunters carried Holy Water. He wasn't in the mood out go out like the poor sod he'd given a Holy Water shower during that last Apocalypse debacle. Winchester would do it to him in a heartbeat, despite the fact he'd helped him out a bit if he figured out what he was.

Winchester was tough, and would have eventually made his way to the highway on his own if he hadn't popped by to help the man in order to hurry things along so he and the angel could get out of here and pretend that they'd never laid eyes on the Winchesters. If he hadn't helped the man, he would have been forced to put up with the angel's insistence on staying for several more days while Winchester was holed up in the hospital after having had his spleen punctured by one of his broken ribs. He'd been careful when dealing with that little problem, not fully healing the man who would have become very suspicious of him if he had.

"Angel, the kid's not going to eat the porridge." he finally said after having watched Sam Winchester defy Aziraphale for the last hour. "Just give him something else, and send him on his way."

He'd dealt with and actually raised enough kids to know exactly how the "You're going to sit there until you eat it." fight ended. It usually went two ways, you got tired of waiting for the kid to eat and sent them to bed, or the kid fell asleep at the table, having refused to eat the food you set in front of them the entire day and night. Sam Winchester was at the very least just as stubborn as the American Ambassador's brat had been before he'd quit being the boy's nanny when he was six during that whole Antichrist mix-up. Sam didn't have a shitload of money and being given just about everything his little heart desired to blame for his being spoiled though.

The angel however could be at least twice as stubborn as any Winchester, especially when he was convinced he was right. Right now, the angel was convinced that what he was doing was good for the boys, and wasn't listening to reason. Having been trapped in the room against their will for nearly two days, the boys were going stir crazy, and it was really starting to show. Dean had already tried murdering the angel fifteen times.

&!&!&!&

Aziraphale felt like tearing his hear out. This was why he didn't like dealing with children for more than a few hours at a time. He hadn't managed to get either of the boys to mind him, and his pockets were full of ammunition from the weapons that the boys' father had rather carelessly left behind. It was amazing that there hadn't been any accidents with those weapons before, considering what an inquisitive boy Sam Winchester was.

He liked happy and smiling children, and Sam and Dean were neither right now. He was almost tempted to let them go to the park like they'd begged him to do several times, but if he did so, they'd just vanish before he could give their father a well deserved piece of his mind. If Winchester didn't learn his lesson, things would continue the way that they had been going, and it became more and more likely that something would happen to the boys while the man was away with each passing day. According to Crowley, a Lesser Demon had already almost gotten them. Who knew what would happen the next time their father wasn't around?

Watching the boys to make sure nothing happened to him was getting on his last nerve however, and he didn't have his usual comforts at hand. He'd known that nothing good would come of this week when he'd failed to get rid of that customer who had bought one of his favorite first editions...

To top things off, he hadn't had a proper cup of tea or cocoa for the last two days since Crowley hadn't been able to find anything other than bags or the instant powder at the grocery store he'd gone to. It was entirely possible that it had been because the demon had pissed the shopkeepers off, but considering where he was, he doubted it.


End file.
